This is based on a very cheesy '80s movie called High Spirits, starring Peter O'Toole, Steve Gutenberg, and Daryl Hannah. I've made a few changes to my RumBelled version (my story is more a romance than a comedy). Thought it would be appropriate for this time of the year. Hope you enjoy :)

As ever, Once Upon a Time and its characters belong to Adam Horowitz, Eddy Kitsis, and ABC: this is just for fun.

Rating: Mature In progress

Chapter One: The Castle

Tristan Gold looked out the window as the car swept up the long drive towards Avonlea Castle. He smiled at the sight of the grand building built of Bath stone, with its gothic turrets and spires, situated back a bit from forbidding cliffs. It was everything he knew it would be.

He turned and smiled at Milah. She had her eyes closed, dozing, but now that they'd arrived, it was time to wake up.

'Milah?' he murmured, touching her shoulder: 'we're here, love.'

She jolted awake and sent him a glare.

'What is it?' she snapped.

'We're here: we've arrived,' he said, smiling, ignoring her glare and her snapping at him. They were here to fix their marriage, and he was determined to do that.

'The castle is beautiful: come and look.'

Gold climbed out of the car, holding out his hand for his wife.

Grumbling and muttering to herself, Milah Gold emerged from the car, rolling her eyes at her husband and only taking his hand briefly as she stepped out of the car. Once she'd steadied herself, she let his hand fall.

'What do you think?' Gold asked enthusiastically.

She gave the building a cursory glance. Stone, spires, old architecture: it was more his scene than hers. She'd agreed to come only because of something she'd heard about the place, not for anything to do with their marriage. He could believe that if he wanted, but she wanted out.

'Mm, very pretty,' she pronounced.

He smiled at her and she looked away, rolling her eyes again. He really thought there was hope for them? Pathetic.

'Mr and Mrs Gold, I presume?'

Gold looked over and saw an elderly lady standing in the wide doorway. She had short grey - more like white - hair, and wore a grey wool skirt with a grey jacket and pale pink top beneath. She wore simple black court shoes, a string of pearls, and pearl earrings. He guessed that this was Avonlea Castle's mistress, come to greet them.

He smiled at her and she returned it warmly and came towards them.

'I am Mrs Elinor Potts, the caretaker of Avonlea Castle: you're both very welcome.'

'Thank you,' Gold returned. 'I'm Tristan Gold, and this is my wife, Milah.'

Mrs Potts shook both of their hands, but something about the wife made her smile falter. The husband, she liked, but the wife…

'Well, won't you both come inside and get warmed by the fire? Your bags will be brought up to your room, so don't worry about that. We usually like to welcome our guests with a drink in the library.'

'Sounds lovely,' Gold said, following her in. 'Do you have many guests to stay at a time?'

'Only a handful,' she told him. 'We like to keep things intimate, so there are never more than ten guests at a time. This weekend, we have seven, including you and Mrs Gold. 'Mrs Potts nodded politely over her shoulder at Mrs Gold, who was looking around interestedly at the paintings and up at the crystal chandelier.

'That must make things cosier,' Gold said conversationally.

'It does,' Mrs Potts agreed. 'It also allows me more time with each of the guests. I like to get to know them: they often become like family.'

Gold smiled at the old lady, liking her already.

'Here we are,' she said: 'this is the library.' And she opened the door and invited the new arrivals to enter.

Gold was awed at the sight of the books first: there must have been thousands lining the shelves. He'd love to be able to browse at his leisure, but he could see that there were a number of other people gathered in the long room too.

Two women sat together by one of the long windows. One of the women had striking two-tone hair of black and white, almost like a skunk. He was also pretty sure that was a fur coat she was wearing. The other woman had clear mahogany skin and blonde streaks through her dark hair.

A young man with fair hair sat beside a pretty woman with short dark hair on a couch near the fire. They were holding hands, obviously deeply in love. Honeymooners, Gold guessed, and smiled at the man as their eyes met. The man looked very pleased with himself, and Gold almost laughed.

He had felt the same way, once upon a time, delighted with his new bride, and she had been delighted with him, or so he thought. Over ten years had passed and the discontent and malaise seemed to grow. They weren't his feelings at all, but Milah's. He was perfectly content: he didn't know why she wasn't. He'd done everything he could to make her happy, and the stay here was his last shot. He proposed it a few months ago and Milah didn't seem keen, but then she had come to him later and expressed interest, so he'd booked it.

'You'll see, Milah,' he'd said, 'a romantic castle, beautiful scenery, fresh air: it puts things into perspective. I'm so glad you're giving this a chance.'

She'd smiled and let him kiss her, and he'd really felt like they could fix this. He tried to ignore the way she still pulled away when he touched her, the constant tension between them, her sullenness.

He turned to his wife and found her looking at the last of the guests: a man with black hair, dressed all in black. He was lounging in a chair by the fire, a drink in his hand. He was what would be called conventionally handsome, several years younger than Gold.

The young man caught his eye and nodded. He stood up and stretched out his hand, smiling.

'Killian Jones,' he greeted.

'Tristan Gold,' Gold returned.

'And this fine lady must be your…?'

'My wife: Milah.'

'Ah: pleasure. You're a lucky man, Gold.' Jones smiled widely.

Gold nodded. 'I am.' He smiled at Milah's smile. 'What brings you here, Mr Jones?' he asked.

'Bit of a history buff, actually,' Jones returned, retaking his seat.

'Really?' Gold asked. He indicated for Milah to take the seat opposite Jones, while he sat on the footstool.

Jones laughed. 'I know: I don't look the type.' He leaned forward conspiratorially and Gold did the same. 'Truth be told, an ancestor of mine engaged in a bit of piracy around these parts: I came to see if I could find out a bit about him.'

'Oh, right,' Gold said. 'What was his name? Would we have heard of him?'

'He went by Hook: had a hook where his left hand should be, apparently. He's supposed to have looted this place: moored his ship in the bay below and surprised everyone one night.'

'When was this?' Gold asked.

'About two hundred years ago. Exactly, actually: happened in 1816, so the story goes.'

'Wow,' Gold said. 'What an interesting family tree you have, Mr Jones.'

Jones smiled. 'And what brings you two here?' he asked, looking from Gold to Milah.

'Bit of a second honeymoon,' Gold said, taking Milah's hand. 'We thought a bit of a change for a while might do us some good.'

'Yes,' Milah agreed, smiling tightly at her husband. Oh, she wished he'd shut up about this second honeymoon crap.

'Ladies and gentlemen?' Mrs Potts called. She smiled as everyone turned to her. 'Now that you've all arrived, I just want to welcome you all again. We do hope you'll enjoy your stay here at Avonlea Castle. If there's anything I, our butler Mr Cogsworth, our chef Lumiere, or our footman Jefferson can do to make your stay more enjoyable, please do let us know.'

As she spoke, Mrs Potts indicated the two men standing on either side of her. One, a thin man with sandy hair, dressed in chef's whites, was obviously Lumiere, while the other, a squat man with a round face and neatly slicked back hair, and wearing an immaculate tail coat and spit-polished shoes, was certainly the butler. The younger man with the brown hair and dressed in elegant blue and gold livery standing by a side table was obviously Jefferson.

'Well, be nice to see how the other half lives, eh, Gold?' Jones asked jovially.

Gold smiled.

The butler approached.

'May I get you something to drink, sir: madam?'

Gold and Milah ordered drinks, and Milah went off to chat with the women sitting by the window. Jones got into conversation with the newlyweds and Gold joined in for a moment, until one of the paintings caught his eye.

He excused himself and went to look, inexplicably drawn in.

The painting was of a young woman with chestnut curls, beautiful blue eyes, and the softest looking skin. She couldn't have been more than twenty. She wore a blue gown from the Regency period and smiled a sweet smile. She was stunningly beautiful.

'Do you like the painting, Mr Gold?'

He turned to find Mrs Potts watching him. She smiled.

'I'm sorry if I startled you.'

He shook his head. 'It's fine: I was just… I do like it, yes,' he said. 'Who is the young lady?'

'It's a rather tragic story,' she said. 'Her name was Belle. She was the only child of the fourth earl. She was murdered here not long after that painting was completed. She was twenty.'

'Murdered?'

'By a pirate who had come to loot the castle when her father was away. Lady Belle tried to stop him, and she, and a boy who had tried to come to her rescue, were both murdered. The pirate got away, but her father tracked him down and killed him. He died shortly after himself, of a broken heart.'

'That's awful,' Gold said, looking up at the painting again. She seemed so alive to him… For some odd reason, it was important to him to know as much as he could about her, about this place.

'When was that?' he asked: 'how long ago?'

'It happened in 1816, two hundred years ago.'

Gold nodded and forced himself to turn away from the painting, though his curiosity to learn more was still present. It was just that if he continued to look into the beautiful, life-like eyes, he might very well drown in them.

'There must be a lot of history here, Mrs Potts,' he said.

'There is, Mr Gold,' she agreed, 'a great deal. Would you like to hear some more?'

'I would love to,' he said.

She smiled and led him over to another seating area. She smiled as he kept looking at the painting of Belle. Yes, she liked this man, and she felt he belonged here.

0

Gold and Milah were shown to their room so they could get ready before dinner. It was a comfortable room, romantic, with a beautiful four-poster bed. Milah seemed uninterested in taking advantage of the time alone, though.

'I wish you wouldn't tell everyone we're here on a second honeymoon,' she complained.

'Why shouldn't I?' he asked.

'Because I don't want everyone knowing our business. Some things are private.'

'Alright,' he said, in attempt to placate her, 'I won't tell anyone else.'

'Good. What time is dinner?'

'An hour,' he told her.

'Wake me ten minutes before, then,' she instructed: 'I'm exhausted after travelling.'

'Of course,' he said. 'I'll take a walk and let you get some rest.'

She didn't reply and he left quietly, disappointed that she seemed uninterested in trying to rekindle their romance. Trying to forget about the unpleasant tension between them, he wandered through the castle.

After a while, he came to what he realised was the West wing. Mrs Potts had told him that no guests ever stayed here, but the area didn't seem to be off limits, so he walked down the hall, looking into dim rooms with shuttered windows and everything covered in dust sheets.

He found he liked this part of the castle as much as the rest, maybe even more. Everything was old and quiet, but there was still a life about it, an energy that drew him in deeper. He was reminded of the painting of the young lady — Belle — and he wondered if he might find something that was once hers here somewhere.

He was so preoccupied by his exploration that he almost forgot the time and had to hurry back to wake Milah.

She didn't thank him, and was sullen and prickly as they went down to dinner.

0

The other guests were nice. Gold liked the young newlyweds, and the two women were rather glamorous and interesting. The woman with the interesting black and white hair introduced herself as Ella De Vil, a fashion designer from London. He might have guessed she was in fashion by her dress and her interesting hair. She had heavy eye make up, red lips, and a plummy accent. Her companion was American, an opera singer called Ursula Caspian. Gold understood without needing to be told that they were a couple.

Ella liked gin and called everyone darling. She had a rather careless way about her, but she noticed everything. Her partner was quieter, but had a beautiful singing voice, which Gold learned when Ella entreated her to sing for them after dinner. It was obvious that singing gave her great joy: her radiant smile as she finished an aria told Gold as much, and he clapped enthusiastically and thanked her when she was done.

Mrs Potts was a kind and warm hostess. Gold imagined that her guests saw in her a favourite aunt or doting grandmother. It wasn't a surprise to him that Avonlea Castle was such a popular retreat with this beneficent lady at the helm.

Two things dampened his spirits: Milah's discontent and Mr Jones. He was used to Milah, but it upset him that she wasn't even interested in trying to enjoy this.

Jones… There was something about the man Gold didn't like, despite the joviality of their first meeting. There was something predatory about him, something waiting to take advantage. He'd almost think someone was in danger from him if he didn't know he was being ridiculous. Perhaps it was just the feeling of being in an old castle, and the fact that it was so close to Halloween, but he almost thought that a ghost had risen from the dead. He couldn't help thinking of the pirate who'd murdered the young beauty in the painting when he looked at him. It had occurred to him that he was the ancestor Jones spoke of.

He shook himself a little and smiled at Mrs Potts' curious look.

'Something wrong, Mr Gold?' she asked kindly.

'Nothing…just… You know that feeling you get when you feel as though someone's walking over your grave?'

'Oh, yes,' she said, something almost conspiratorial in her eyes: 'we often feel that here, those of us who are used to the place.'

'You're not trying to tell us there are ghosts here, are you, darling?' Ella asked, smiling in a way that said she clearly didn't believe in such things.

'I believe that the worlds of the dead and the living overlap more than most people realise,' Mrs Potts said quite seriously. 'Some people feel it more than others do.'

She looked at him again, and he thought she was almost pleased.

'I don't believe in ghosts,' David Nolan, the newlywed, declared, holding his wife's hand. A real prince charming type, Gold thought: the kind who would go dashing in to save a damsel in distress if they were in a story book.

'I do,' his wife, Mary Margaret, returned quietly. 'Sometimes I think my mother is still here, watching over me. Maybe not a ghost, exactly, but her spirit.'

Her husband smiled and hugged her, kissing her forehead, and silently saying that he believed whatever she believed.

Gold smiled at them, and then felt a stab of pain at the thought that he and Milah had lost that closeness forever. Had they ever really had it to begin with?

'What about you, Gold: believe in ghosts?' Jones asked in a derisive, too-loud voice, startling him out of his melancholy thought.

He looked at the man and recoiled at his thinly-veiled sneer. Oh, that was a look of derision, alright, but Gold had no clue what he'd done to deserve it.

'Just because I can't see it doesn't mean it's not real, Mr Jones,' he returned, as politely as he could, and turned away.

He was angry, furious, and he didn't know why.

'Another drink, Mr Gold?' Cogsworth asked.

He nodded gratefully, and took the proffered Scotch with both hands, taking a big gulp.

0

It was late. Milah had gone to bed, but Gold was enjoying the company of the other guests, so he stayed where he was in the cosy drawing room. Jones left shortly after Milah. Gold was glad to see him go. He and the others stayed up chatting for another hour, but finally Gold was getting bleary-eyed, and the others were going to bed anyway, so he headed up too.

He was thinking of falling into a dreamless sleep when he opened the door to his room. Oddly, the light was still on: he'd thought Milah would be sound asleep by now. It took him several seconds to realise that not only was Milah awake, but she was very much not alone. She and Jones were in bed together, naked, and it didn't take a rocket scientist to realise what they'd been doing before he walked in on them.

To be continued

Next time, Gold has a very strange dream…